Who is actually adapting to whom here? About a jay and a discarded telephone card
Some artists remain silent about their works. I don’t really like doing that. I’m obsessed with detail—and this piece from my “Pen Marks” series offers enough of it to explore every little detail with lyrical depth.
I have a few small containers in my studio. They’re these boxes and little cases that usually keep me busy for days on end—and afterward I wonder how I ever managed for so many years without that one dried-up Venus flytrap leaf, which is now obviously indispensable.
In my cabinet of things that no one would have missed, I found this time, among other things: a leaf bud, flower remnants from the blue rain, bumblebee wings of almost pretentious delicacy, an alder fruit, said Venus trap leaf from my windowsill, a yellow paper remnant from some packaging that had done its job, and one of two small metal stars that I picked up from the sidewalk at a bus stop – because they were there, and because I usually can’t overlook something like that.
The bizarre border of the whole scene comes from the seed capsule of a palm tree. Not an exotic find, but a very special one: from the palm garden in the Bad Pyrmont spa gardens. So I found these little twigs practically on my doorstep.
The oldest piece in this work is the jay feather. I found it many years ago on a walk in Hamburg – together with a few other feathers of this kind, which were lying there on the gray-brown forest floor and shone as if I wanted to take them with me.
The jay itself is quite a remarkable bird. As a watchdog in the forest, it is alert and alert – distinguishing with remarkable clarity between threats and harmless encounters. This decisiveness, I think, is reflected in its high-contrast plumage in the most beautiful way: no half measures, no gray. He also imitates the calls of birds of prey, which I think is a form of humor, even if ornithologists probably see it differently. And birds that imitate cell phone ringtones? They are supposed to happen.
The chip card at the edge of the picture is a discarded phone card with adapter that someone kindly gave me – without suspecting that it would end up here, between bumblebee wings and palm capsule fragments, as a natural part of this small community. Its pure magenta and the sky blue of the jay’s feathers – these two obviously have a lot to say to each other.
The two set the scene, and in between, the lively flock of birds is allowed to call the shots. It is the diversity of species, from blue oriole to siskin, that makes this work hum. Do they depend on each other? Do they know each other? Do they like each other? I don’t know. In the end, I only know one thing for sure: I don’t know much about this tightly woven fabric of our world, and the longer I look, the more questions I have.
What really concerns me: How does nature manage to simply take things as they are? Without comment, without complaint – with a quiet serenity that I am sometimes genuinely envious of. New ringtones in the forest, chip cards in the undergrowth – the smallest creatures continue to go about their mysterious business. No shrugging of the shoulders. No reproaches. Simply: adapt. Which, by the way, is the only strategy that we humans can accept calmly – as long as we don’t have to restrict ourselves.
If adaptation no longer works, the alternative is the disappearance of entire habitats. Usually without us noticing.
What is going on around us while we are not looking?
This question gave rise to this picture – finished, framed, completed, and yet open to any gaze that wants to read the (pen) marks a little more closely. A stubborn structure on a few square centimeters that suggests more than it wants to explain. I leave it up to you to decide what you recognize in it.
On the product page you can find out other important things that I have kept to myself here. But above all – the work in its entirety.
This piece is part of my “Pen Marks” series—a series that’s still growing. The other pieces are still waiting to be framed and, therefore, to be displayed in the studio. But I’m more than happy to answer any questions about them right now—just send me an email
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